You probably didn’t know all those years ago when you gently planted those little roses bushes, that one day they would be a beautiful reminder of you.

That I’d jump out of the car to see them, gingerly cut a few to bring home, wrapped so carefully like the most precious treasure.

Could you imagine we’d press them in books, dry them in vases and hang them in frames? Take endless pictures, watch all the blooms and sit in their beauty until the last, late fall petal slipped away.

You probably didn’t know.

You never would have thought as you pulled the tiresome weeds on hot summer days that we’d SO love something that you planted, that you cared for, that you helped grow. And now they line the house welcoming all who come in, little buds once touched by your hands that keep showing up, even though you’re gone.

You probably didn’t know.

And do any of us ever know? What we’re planting, and pruning and growing? Not just seeds tossed in the ground, but love spread all around.

We probably don’t know.

So we get up each day and we do all we can, and we grow those roots down deep. Because one day we will be gone too. And I don’t know if I’ll be remembered by a rose, but whatever it is, I’ll keep doing all I can now.

You probably didn’t know Mama, because we don’t always get to see what happens after the seeds fall and the growth comes, because time just goes on and on. So we do our best in all the seasons.

But I know now because of you.

And someday, mine will know too.